


Somewhere You Can Meet Me

by ViolaTricolour



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Slow Burn, longfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-01-20 04:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12425478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolaTricolour/pseuds/ViolaTricolour
Summary: In their time at Hogwarts, Pansy Parkinson and Zacharias Smith have never really done more than co-exist in the same school. Pansy thinks him soft, and dull, and little more than the occasional target. Zacharias finds her cruel, and cold, and vile. But it turns out they've got a lot more in common than they initially thought, and find themselves in an odd friendship that neither of them entirely hates. But even when they've both decided friendship isn't quite enough, the universe has other plans. They're on opposite sides of a war, after all, and such things have a way of tearing everything asunder.





	1. Face to Face

Her laughter rings through the quiet, dying down as quickly as it’d started. Beside her, Daphne Greengrass is quick to make a shushing sound, but green eyes flicker upwards to see if they’ve been overheard – only to catch the glare of a nearby Hufflepuff, who cannot seem to drop his gaze quickly enough. A huff escapes her, and she simply turns back to her forgotten Charms work, when Daphne interrupts.

“Why does Zacharias Smith keep looking over here?”

Immediately, Pansy Parkinson perks back up again, a glare falling on the blond, but she’s missed him this time. And then she’s turning to Daphne, curtain of dark hair falling over her face as she leans in.

“What do you think _his_ problem is?” she asks the group, brushing back her hair to steal another glance.

“Has he been staring this whole time?” Millicent Bulstrode asks, thankfully has the sense not to turn around to look. For once.

“He fancies you, Pans,” Daphne deadpans, the hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. “Ickle Hufflepuff fancies _you._ ”

Pansy can only grimace. “Merlin, I hope not. That’s so _embarrassing._ ”

“Maybe he’s staring because you three won’t shut up.” Tracey Davis does not bothering whispering – or looking up from her parchment, for that matter.

Pansy is quick to shush her, glancing up to see if they’ve been overheard – but Smith is still studying his notes, brow furrowed. Almost disappointed, the witch leans back in her seat, flipping the pages of the Charms book in front of her. “Tracey’s right. I’ve still got three inches to write by tomorrow. How’s your Transfiguration coming, Daph?”

A groan is her only response.

“Here, swap me.”

The next hour is rather uneventful – Millicent and Tracey end up leaving to swing by the common room before class, and Pansy and Daphne are too busy making Hogsmeade plans between fixing each other’s essays to care much about the Hufflepuff with a staring problem. Until they start heading for the door only a few steps behind him, however.

Pansy is quick to elbow her way in front of him, breezing through the door Smith has just opened, Daphne close behind. “I didn’t think you _Hufflepuffs_ travelled alone,” she quips as she heads off, smirk forming on her face, and Daphne lingers by the door with a subtle wink. “Isn’t it dangerous to be without your little friends?”

Smith just keeps walking, and she is quick to follow, heels clicking against the stone floor.

“Don’t you go anywhere without your minions following, Parkinson?” he tries, and the exasperation on his face is clear when he glances back to find her alone, for the moment.

It’s cute, really, in a very pathetic way, how he manages to speak around the foot in his mouth. Pansy is quite nearly endeared by his efforts, and she’s willing to bet he can tell. But neither his shoulders nor his head drop; he does not try to shy away from the girl so obviously intent on ruining his day, and _that_ is a surprise. So she waits, continues down the corridor only a few steps behind until he snaps.

And snap he does.

“Rather intent on me today, aren’t you, Parkinson?” The effort he makes to sound casual is admirable, honestly.

“You started it, Smith. Staring at people in the library is _rude_ you know.”

“And following them isn’t?”

“I never claimed to be nice.”

She hears his snort, and in the blink of an eye she’s pulled out her wand, a silent _Diffindo_ aimed at his bag that sends his books tumbling out onto the floor. By the time he’s turned around she’s got her arms crossed, wand hidden up her sleeve, and Daphne steps back up to rejoin her.

“Oi! What’s that all about?”

Daphne snickers behind her hand, but Pansy’s eyes just go large, a mask of innocence crossing her features as she stares at the books he’s now scrambling to pick up. “Don’t blame _me,_ ” she sniffs. “Blame that cheap bag you’re carrying around. Trust me, it’s a blessing.”

“You bitch.”

The words are surely meant to wound, but Pansy Parkinson has heard far worse. And so she only smiles wide, all teeth, eyes shining with pure joy. “I know,” she says, linking arms with Daphne and stepping around him, continuing down the corridor to their History of Magic class.

Which is dull, as always.

Binns drones on and on and Pansy only lasts ten minutes before she’s turning in her seat, gesturing for the girls behind her to lean in. As long as they keep their voices down, they can gossip to their hearts’ content, thank Merlin.

“D’you know where the Hufflepuffs are this hour?” It’s supposed to be an innocent question, but by the glances Tracey and Daphne exchange, Pansy is already regretting asking. But it’s Draco beside her that answers, grey eyes narrowed curiously at her.

“Herbology. With the Gryffindors.”

“You _would_ know the Gryffindors’ schedule,” she teases, flashing him a smirk over her shoulder.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Draco shoots back, but Pansy only gives a noncommittal hum as she turns back to Daphne and Tracey. “We’re prefects, Pans, that’s the sort of thing we’re supposed to know. Why is it you’re asking about the Hufflepuffs?”

Green eyes roll to the ceiling, and she reaches over to place a hand on his arm, the look she pins on him _condescending_ in its sweetness. “Don’t worry about it, darling. It’s just a question.”

“Zacharias Smith was staring at her in the library,” Tracey supplies, giving Pansy a cheeky grin when the brunette turns to glare at her. Daphne is almost ready to burst with the suppressed laughter. Even Blaise has turned to give the girls a curious stare, and all Pansy can do is sigh as Tracey continues. “He fancies her. And we _all know_ how much you like Quidditch players, Pans. Especially the blond ones.”

Pansy nearly _chokes,_ and she can hear Blaise’s snickers on her other side. She doesn’t dare look at Draco, doesn’t want to see the smug look surely crossing his features right about now.

“Don’t you know when enough is enough?” she hisses, hands gripping the back of her chair so tightly her knuckles are beginning to turn white. But the look in Tracey’s eye is enough to know she’s not about to back down – so Pansy only turns back around, spends the rest of the lesson ignoring the whispers behind her and trying not to fall asleep.

It’s Draco at her side when class is finally over, and for a moment she’s relieved – the girls are good company, but the day is already proving exhausting in their presence, and it’s not even dinner. Pansy very quickly takes back that relief, however, when he speaks.

“A Hufflepuff? Really, Pans?”

A loud groan escapes her, and she stops right in her tracks to turn to him, green eyes narrowed into a glare. She expects to see him smirking, or at the very least laughing, but the expression on his face is clearly disgusted. All at once, her annoyance disappears, to be replaced with a quiet mischievousness. A step forward brings her close, head tilting, a smirk playing on her features.

“Jealous, Draco?” she whispers.

A scoff is his response, and he pulls away, turning so that he doesn’t have to look at her. To any onlooker, he’d appear disinterested, but Pansy knows better – he’s trying to _hide_ from her accusations. Not that she’s going to hold them over him, of course, but it is always fun to poke once in a while.

Pansy laughs, following him away from the classroom, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “No, _I know._ That’s not part of our arrangement. And for the record, I wouldn’t touch Smith with a ten-foot pole. I prefer Ravenclaws, anyway.” The words are accompanied by a wink, and they draw a quiet chuckle from the blond boy beside her.

“Astronomy tower, then? After classes.”

“I’ll see you there.”

\---

Her laughter rings through the quiet, dying down as quickly as it’d started. His eyes narrow, gaze flicking upwards towards the table of Slytherin girls, heads all bowed together, books strewn about. He has half a mind to tell them off – the library is a place to _study,_ not a place for airheads to gossip.

Pansy Parkinson looks up, catches his eye, and Zacharias cannot look away quickly enough. He can hear the faint sound of whispering, but the words are indecipherable. He chances another glance, this time to meet Daphne Greengrass’ scrutinizing stare. She wrinkles her nose at him, and he only rolls his eyes before finally turning his attention back to the Potions notes in front of him.

Except he can sort of make out what they’re talking about, now, because Parkinson’s got the sort of voice that carries and it’s otherwise quiet.

She asks the other girls what his problem is – and he does not hear the responses, not that he _wants to_ , thank you very much – and Zacharias is only that much more determined to stay focused on his notes. One of the others, Davis he thinks, tells them to shut up and he’s never been more thankful. At least now it’s quiet, and he doesn’t have to move elsewhere and give them more ammunition.

He’s not really sure how much time passes; all he knows is that by the time he’s packing his things to head to Herbology he’s all but forgotten Parkinson and her gang – until she pushes her way past him and through the door he’s just opened.

“I didn’t think you _Hufflepuffs_ travelled alone. Isn’t it dangerous to be without your little friends?” The smirk on her face is maddening, it truly is, but he’s not going to rise to her challenge, either. Parkinson’s reputation far precedes her, and Zacharias has no interest in being her latest victim.

So he only brushes past her, and hopes she doesn’t follow. But she does. Of course she does.

“Don’t you go anywhere without your minions following, Parkinson?” he snaps, looking back to find Greengrass has fallen behind – he can see her down the corridor, looking _very_ interested in something in her bag; he just manages to catch the sneer on Parkinson’s face before turning back around.

She doesn’t reply, but he knows she’s still following. All he can hear is the _click clack_ of her heels, and he tries to ignore her, he does, but he can feel his frustration building with each step. Part of him hopes she’ll get bored, but he’s not sure she will, and he’s got to get all the way out of the castle. Zacharias cannot _handle_ dealing with her all that way.

“Rather intent on me today, aren’t you, Parkinson?” he calls stiffly.

“You started it, Smith. Staring at people in the library is _rude_ , you know.” Oh, how he can just picture the simpering smirk on her face as she says it.

“And following them isn’t?”

“I never claimed to be _nice._ ”

He snorts, because isn’t that just the truth? But the next thing he knows he hears the sound of fabric splitting and the bag on his shoulder gets much lighter as his books go tumbling to the ground. When he turns around she’s got her arms crossed, and Greengrass has returned to her side.

“Oi! What was that all about?”

Parkinson’s eyes go impossibly wide, mouth forming a perfect little ‘o’ as she watches him scramble to pick up his books. “Don’t blame _me,_ blame that cheap bag you’re carrying around. Trust me, it’s a blessing.”

“You _bitch._ ”

She doesn’t cackle, but he can almost hear the sound anyway with the wicked sneer she gets, the way those pale green eyes glitter with nothing but _pure evil._ How one tiny person can hold that much awfulness inside them he’ll never know. “ _I know,_ ” she says, and then she’s gone, and at least the day can’t get much worse from here, right?

He didn’t take into account that he’s heading into _Herbology._

Which, granted, isn’t the worst class. Certainly not his best subject, and therefore not among his favorite. Sprout’s decent enough – _fair,_ which is more than can be said for Snape, though he’s sure she could stand to give her own House at least a little bit of special treatment. But, no, there she is, staring at him rather sternly as he rushes into class a couple minutes late, textbooks nearly falling out of his arms.

She seems to take pity on him, though, because he doesn’t lose any points for his tardiness, and she only sighs when he holds up his ruined bag in silent explanation.

That doesn’t stop Susan’s concerned look, however.

They’re working with fanged geraniums today, and it’s complete with a lecture about their looming O.W.L.s as if they haven’t all been hearing about it since the beginning of the school year. With it getting as close as it is, he supposes he’s not allowed to be _too_ annoyed over it. But since when has that ever stopped him?

Zacharias has just pulled on his gloves and turned to scowl at the plant in front of him when he’s flanked by Justin and Ernie.

“So, you going to tell us what happened?” Justin tries – and fails – to sound casual about the whole thing.

“ _Parkinson_ ,” is his only incredibly bitter response.

Hannah, Megan, and Susan have taken the station across from the boys by now, and Hannah gives a quiet little _tut_ , exchanging a glance with Ernie.

“Her and Malfoy both,” Hannah huffs, and he finds himself watching as she and Megan try to wrestle the geranium’s mouth open enough for Susan to pull out one of the fangs. “They think just because they’re prefects they can do whatever they like. You shouldn’t pay her any mind, Zacharias; Parkinson’s _vile._ ”

“Kind of gathered that, thanks.”

None of them really deserve his sour mood; after all, it’s not their fault he’s been today’s target of a certain Slytherin she-devil. They’ve all seemed to have accepted it, at least, because no one’s snapping at him to behave or pushing him on the subject. Ernie’s just elbowing him in the side to remind him they’ve got work to do, and he attempts to dive in to defang the monster plant in front of him.

Which results in more than a couple bites.

“Language!” Sprout hisses, sharp glare indicating he’s dangerously close to losing House Points, but her attention is quickly on Potter and his gang as Weasley has a very similar reaction to Zacharias’.

The tension around their end of the table is still thick enough to cut with a knife, however, and it’s Susan that attempts to break it by appealing to the one thing that’s sure to lighten his mood.

“How’s the team shaping up for the next match? Think we’ll beat Gryffindor?”

 _“Undoubtedly.”_ There’s a determined glint in his eye, and he glances sidelong down the table to Potter, inclining his head until the others get the message. As he continues, his voice drops to a quiet whisper. “He’s got the little Weasley replacing him, and those Beaters they’ve got replacing Fred and George are right useless. Team’s in shambles, we shouldn’t have a problem. Just gotta make sure _Summerby’s_ up for it.”

Zacharias wears his Captain’s badge with pride, has spent all year drilling his team to prepare for this inevitable match, fully expecting Gryffindor to have their top line up. The fact that they don’t means this is a chance to make up for their loss against Ravenclaw, and potentially take the Quidditch Cup for their own.

It takes a second to realize he’s said all of this out loud.

Ernie chuckles beside him, Susan and Megan can’t hide their amusement, but Hannah’s eyebrows have raised as she pins him with a very unimpressed look. She never has liked his boasting.

“Save the lectures for the team, mate.” Justin claps him on the back before turning back to the plant in front of them, but at least now his mood has lifted. Two days until their match with Gryffindor, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been this confident going into it.

\---

Two days later, and the incident with Parkinson is all but forgotten.

The Great Hall is buzzing with excitement the morning of the match, and it feels like half of Hufflepuff House has stopped by to wish him luck since he sat down. Zacharias’ giddiness hasn’t made a comeback, however, and he is all business as he starts rounding up the team to get them down to the pitch _soon._

It’s on his way out to the grounds that he spots a small, raven-haired girl in Slytherin colors, yellow and black ribbons hanging off her hat. He damn near _trips,_ and it’s a good thing Parkinson doesn’t notice him because he knows he’s staring and he knows there’s no decent explanation for it.

 _She just doesn’t want Gryffindor to win,_ he reminds himself, hurries himself out the doors and to the Quidditch Pitch.

And if he searches for her in the crowd as he flies by, Quaffle tucked under his arm, well, no one has to know about it.

If he deliberately shoots a smug look her way when he scares Kirke off his broom, its mere coincidence.

He catches her cheering as he races towards the hoops for what feels like the tenth time this match when he finds her again, jumping and cheering and he _fumbles._ He actually fucking fumbles. Cadwallader is good enough to make it look like it was on purpose, and he makes a silent note to himself to thank the boy later.

And even if Ginny Weasley catches the snitch right under Summerby’s nose – damn his cold, honestly – Hufflepuff is still victorious.

And Zacharias is very determinedly not thinking about Pansy Parkinson at the victory party. Not for a single second.


	2. Eyes On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when Zacharias thought he was safe, an uncomfortable Arithmancy class -- and project -- forces him back into the company of Pansy Parkinson.

The match against Gryffindor had left Zacharias on a high for the next week. They were actually in the running for the Quidditch Cup, a feat they hadn’t even come close to in his years at Hogwarts. Even with their narrow loss to Ravenclaw in November, as long as they trounced Slytherin it’d be theirs. A fact he’s reminded his team of nearly every day since.

So, it’s been nearly two weeks since his encounter with Parkinson before he meets her again, and she manages to spoil his good mood.

She falls into step with him on the way to Arithmancy, and immediately Zacharias has to stifle a groan. He hasn’t forgotten they’re in that class together, not by a long shot, but they’ve been entirely content to ignore the other’s presence since third year, so why has that changed now?

“New bag?” she asks, voice sickeningly sweet.

“Same rotten attitude?”

The laugh that escapes her is light and musical, innocent and entirely unfitting for someone as vile as she is. At least she doesn’t speak after that, and he thinks maybe the nightmare is over.

It’s not.

He should know better by now than to sit any place where he can see Parkinson during class. Vector is strict, so at least he doesn’t have to deal with hearing her hushed whispers, but he catches her passing notes with Davis and some part of him is sorely tempted to speak up and get her caught.

He doesn’t, and only Merlin knows why. But he _swears_ Davis turns to look at him, too fast for him to truly catch her. No, _no,_ he’s only being paranoid – one day as Parkinson’s target two weeks ago has not granted him the special hell of being talked about with her friends. It wasn’t even a full _day,_ just a short walk through the hallways. He’s just thinking he’s really got to stop being so paranoid when he hears his name.

“Mr. Smith?”

Professor Vector’s got that pointy glare pinned on him, and all at once he feels his face heat up. He can see Granger sigh with impatience, hand flying into the air, but she goes ignored. Zacharias looks to the board behind her, silently curses himself for not hearing the question because his mind isn’t quite working quickly enough to come up with the numbers—

“Seven, five, nine.”

It takes half a second to realize the answer comes from his own mouth.

There is an upwards twist to Vector’s mouth, and she nods, and he nearly sinks in his seat in sheer relief. Granger almost seems disappointed, if the way her hand slowly lowers is any indication, but Zacharias hardly cares. He’d gotten it right, and he maintains his reputation of being _good_ at this class. It leaves Parkinson to divine the meaning of these results – he _barely_ contains his snickers when she makes it obvious she hasn’t really been paying attention.

Vector is less pleased, of course.

“Perhaps you and Miss Davis should spend a little less time gossiping and a little more time in the present,” she clucks. “You’ll be partnering with Mr. Smith for your next assignment.”

“What?!” Zacharias almost flies out of his seat. Merlin, this is just his luck, isn’t it? His gaze meets Parkinson’s, and her scowl mirrors his own. They never have _assigned_ _partners_ for Arithmancy. Why now? What has he done for the universe to determine he deserves this punishment? “Professor –”

“I hardly think that’s necessary,” Parkinson supplies, voice simpering sweet. It’s the one time he can bring himself to be relieved to hear that tone; at least this time it’s working in his favor and not just her own. “I’m sure Tracey’s more than willing to explain where I’ve gone wrong.”

“Yeah. Absolutely.” Davis’ voice is listless, and he can just imagine the glare she’s giving Parkinson right about now for dragging her into it. “Won’t be a problem, Professor.”

Zacharias can clearly see that Vector is not convinced.

“Your O.W.Ls are right around the corner!” she starts, and he can almost hear the internal groan that goes through the class in waves. “No more partnering with your friends and learning nothing. Arithmancy is not a subject you can just sleep your way through class and get an Outstanding –”

“Yeah, hear that, Parkinson? No sleeping your way through the class –”

Half the class snickers, Zacharias included, and he almost feels sorry for the Ravenclaw boy that’d tossed out the comment; surely Parkinson’s wrath would be painful to incur. But, well, he’d asked for it, hadn’t he?

“Miss Davis, you’ll be partnering with Miss Granger,” Vector continues without missing a beat. Davis and Granger manage to exchange chilling glares from across the room, but Zacharias is quick to tune out once more while the rest of the partners are assigned.

He’s stuck with Parkinson. Brown eyes are pinned to the back of her head, chin in his hand while his signature scowl forms on his face. Merlin, this is going to be a nightmare. She’s no doubt plotting the down fall of the brave, unfortunate soul that had called her a slag in front of the entire class, so that’s a bonus, right? He won’t be her target. Maybe she’ll actually go easy on him and they can be done with – _whatever_ this assignment is as quickly as possible.

It’s not until everyone’s getting up to leave that he realizes he has no idea what the assignment even is. Vector calls out a reminder that it’s due next week, and that’s all Zacharias gets as he’s hurrying out of the classroom.

Parkinson doesn’t try and stop him or talk to him. It’s the one break he’s gotten today.

Ernie and Justin are already waiting on him in the common room when he practically comes running through, collapses in the nearest chair.

“Alright there, mate?”

“I haven’t seen you that excited to get to the common room since your victory party –”

“Was Arithmancy that bad?”

Zacharias lets out a groan, head tipping back against the back of the chair, eyes trained on the ceiling as he’s spread-eagle in the seat. His heart is pounding a painful tattoo against his ribcage after his rush down approximately seven flights of stairs, and he takes a moment to catch his breath before he can speak. He’s not even sure why he was in such a rush; he’d lost Parkinson after the first floor. Something inside him just… wanted to put as much distance between them as possible. That was reasonable, right? After their only meaningful interaction had gone the way it did?

“Zach? Mate?” comes Justin’s voice

“Zacharias,” he corrects sharply.

“Just checking you’re alive, there.”

“Parkinson,” he supplies finally, pushing himself back up into a proper sitting position. He rakes a hand through blond hair, pins Ernie and Justin both with a look of despair. “Arithmancy project. I’m stuck with her.”

Justin takes in a sharp breath of air.

“Did she do anything? I can get Lily involved – Parkinson might actually listen to the Head Girl,” Ernie offers.

Zacharias just shakes his head. “Not yet. But I don’t really fancy the idea of trying to get through a project with her, either. Who knows what she’ll decide to do?”

Ernie and Justin exchange a glance, before both boys flank Zacharias and drag him to his feet. “No point worrying about it right now,” Justin says as they steer him back out of the common room. “Let’s have lunch, then we’ll brainstorm with the girls some ways to hold off Parkinson.”

Zacharias can, at least, agree to lunch. He thinks he’s quite finished with the subject of the Slytherin, really; yes, he’s going to bitch and moan about how awful she is up until this silly thing is over, but other than that he doesn’t _really_ want to discuss her. Saying her name seems to summon her, after all.

“Smith!”

Zacharias freezes in the doorway to the Great Hall. Oh, bloody fucking hell.

“What do you want?” he sighs as he turns, catches sight of _the devil herself._ Ernie and Justin similarly stop and turn, glowering down at her. She’s shorter than he realized, always trotting around in those bloody heels, always pretending she’s so much bigger than she really is.

It takes him half a second to realize she’s even approached him alone.

“Arithmancy,” she says shortly. Her gaze never once wavers from him towards the other two, and he can see the way her lips twist in displeasure. “Tomorrow. Library. Eight o’clock. That work for you?”

He opens his mouth to ask if she means eight in the morning, stops before he can embarrass himself. Of course she means the morning. Who in the bloody hell is up that early on a Saturday?

“Fine. Whatever,” Zacharias grunts, and then he’s turning and leaving her behind again.

At least the rest of the day passes without incident, with Susan and Hannah expressing their dismay on his behalf. He just asks that the subject be dropped, and they move right along to Divination and their star charts and he finds his attention drifting.

Even as the subject changes and they head off for their last classes of the day, Zacharias pays very little attention to the conversations his friends are having. Once in a while one of them will deliberately try and include him, but he’s had practice enough by now to toss out some generic line that fits _just_ well enough to get them to leave him alone for a little bit longer.

Even when they all retire to the common room, and the others settle into their seats for the evening ritual of studying together, Zacharias simply excuses himself and trots back to his dormitory.

He doesn’t realize how exhausting it’s all been until he’s flopped onto his bed and pulled the curtains shut so he can stare at the ceiling in peace. He thinks he hears Justin or Ernie – or maybe it’s just one of the others – enter long enough to shuffle around his things, pause next to his bed, and exit once more.

He doesn’t even know why he cares about the Slytherin girl’s venom tongue; it’s not the first time she’s tossed out bladed barbs at him, or one of his friends, and they’ve been so easy to brush off before, haven’t they?

No, that’s not entirely true, and he hates himself for it even as he tries to lie to himself about it. Parkinson’s always done this – breezed through for a short period of time, driving him absolutely mad, and then forgetting his existence. She’d done it last year, just before Christmas, and left him scowling at her during the entire Yule Ball while she danced away with Malfoy. And second year, throwing jabs at his flying abilities while he’d practiced for Quidditch tryouts. Even first year she’d managed to stomp on his toes that first day, and proceeded to mock his House for the next week.

Does she even remember any of it? he finds himself wondering. Or is he just another in a long list of targets drifting in and out of her attention?

It’s all stupid, and he really shouldn’t be worrying about it as much as he is.

And yet even when he closes his eyes he cannot get the vision of her out of his head – pale green eyes in a sharp glare, painted red lips dancing around a smirk, tossing dark hair over her shoulder.

Zacharias isn’t even sure when he falls asleep, only that he _really_ doesn’t want to get out of bed when he opens his eyes again. Sunlight pours through the window and through his curtain, but the dormitory is quiet aside from the sound of Wayne’s snoring.

He never even undressed the night before, and he has half a mind not to change when he does finally drag himself up. But no, _bloody hell,_ he’s supposed to be meeting Parkinson, and the last thing he needs is something new for her to pass her judgment on. A glance at his watch tells him he’s running late already, and yet even that’s not enough for him to hurry in getting ready.

It’s only after he’s had breakfast that he trudges up to the library, bag over his shoulder with his Arithmancy supplies.

Parkinson is easy enough to find, sitting by herself, one of the only students that’s taken up residence in the library at this hour on a weekend. She doesn’t even look up from whatever she’s scrawling on her parchment when he approaches, only gives him a curt, “You’re late.”

“Yeah, well, you’re bloody mad for being up so early,” he yawns in response.

That gets her to meet his gaze, her eyebrow arching, lips twisting downward. Merlin, how does she always look so bloody put together? Zacharias is not entirely unconvinced it’s not the product of some dark magic sacrifice. Parkinson’s the type.

“Mornings are the best part of the day,” she says after a moment, before handing over her parchment. He can’t even really process the fact she hasn’t turned it into an insult before he’s trying to take in what she’s written.

(Even her _handwriting_ is perfect.)

“What’s this?”

“Our Arithmancy project, or were you too busy staring at the back of my head yesterday to catch that?” Ah, there it is, the venom. But she doesn’t have the smug smirk Zacharias has come to expect from her, nor any of the amusement. She’s… cold. Almost _annoyed._ “We answer the questions, our partner gets to figure out what it all means and write six inches analyzing everything it could possibly mean. _Brilliant._ ”

“You don’t seem too happy about it,” Zacharias points out before he can think better of it.

A snort escapes her. “No, I don’t particularly fancy the idea of someone thinking they know everything about me because of a handful of numbers. Besides, this is third year work. I think we had this same exact assignment back then, even.”

“Must be on our O.W.Ls,” he replies, distracted. He’s too busy going over the parchment he’s handed her. None of it means anything yet, of course, but there’s a strange sense of dread creeping up his spine the longer he looks at it. Or maybe it’s just the thought that he’s going to have to give her the same insight into himself.

That’s a dangerous thought.

“Your middle name’s Olivia?” There, that’s something easy to focus on.

“After my grandmother. Yours?” Zacharias looks up again to find she’s pulled out a sheet of parchment, watching him expectantly with her quill hovering, an inky, dark green blot beginning to form on the page. He hesitates too long. “Your middle name, Smith.”

“Ah – Marcellus.”

He watches as she writes out the name, and the corresponding numbers for each letter. It occurs to him in that moment that he’s never done any of this for his own name, and is he really about to watch Parkinson reduce him to a few numbers to divine his entire life? Zacharias opens his mouth to stop her, but she’s quicker.

“Next question. Favorite hobby?”

“Quidditch.” Again, she writes his answer and more numbers, and he glances down to the parchment in front of him. _Painting._ She paints?

They continue on in much of this same fashion, the questions simple, for the most part – parents’ names, number of siblings and their names. She has no siblings, which Zacharias thinks he remembers from his mum, but he’s too busy focused on the way her eyebrows shoot up at his mum’s name, and the way she asks her _maiden name._

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know. Fawley, alright?” he snaps. “One of your precious Sacred Twenty-Eight, so don’t you start with me –”

“My mother’s mentioned her a time or two,” Parkinson presses on as if he’d never spoken at all, and there’s that familiar evil little glint in her eye, corners of her lips curling upwards into a sneer. “Elite and proud family, only to disappoint them all by marrying some nobody.”

Zacharias snorts. “Yeah, sure, _nobodies._ We’re only descendants of Helga Hufflepuff –”

“So you claim, but you have no proof.”

“I’d have been a Slytherin, and my sister would have been a Ravenclaw, if we weren’t.”

Parkinson tilts her head to the side and rolls her eyes to the ceiling. “Slytherin would have eaten you alive, darling.”

Zacharias’ cheeks burn. It’s not like the Sorting Hat had ever considered him for anything else; it’d taken one look at him and determined his fate, so he’ll never really know. But he’s not going to go down in this without a fight, either. “What’s your mum, then? Prewett, isn’t it? I bet family dinners are grand; do you invite the entire Weasley clan, or just the ones you’re closest to?”

There’s a sharp pain in his shin, prompting a grunt, and he realizes half a second later that it’s come from a very swift kick from the girl in front of him. “They’re _distant_ cousins,” she pushes through gritted teeth, and he swears he can hear her voice waver ever so slightly. “My mother’s family is very proudly pureblood, and we don’t associate with _blood traitors._ ”

Honestly, he can’t say he’s surprised at her reaction, or the name she gives the Weasley family. She hangs around Malfoy, and he’s made it clear where he stands on the subject of Muggleborns, so of course she would believe the same. Still, he finds himself pulling away, leaning back in his seat with nothing else to say. It’s not like he cares about any of the Weasleys himself, but he knows the slippery slope they’re on.

And, if he’s honest, he’d rather not let this devolve, and then later deal with the guilt when he’s not as defensive of his Muggleborn friends as he should be.

“What was your sister’s name again?”

“Chiara.”

The tension lingers, but they fall back into that odd civility Zacharias isn’t quite sure what to make of. He can hear Ernie now, telling him she just wanted to get this entire thing over and done with and he needs to stop being an idiot. But it’s not right, and he’s not sure he likes it.

Before he knows it, the most uncomfortable interview of his life is over, and she’s packing away her things without looking at him. “Now all we have to do is write a bullshit essay analyzing all of this, and never speak of it again.” She’s entirely too chipper about it, he thinks, but then again he’s rather relieved to be done with this mess, too.

So Zacharias is careful to slip the parchment with her information on it into his Arithmancy book before shoving it all into his bag and getting to his feet. Maybe there’s still time for him to get an extra hour or two of sleep before someone comes dragging him out of bed.

“Get some coffee, Smith, you look terrible,” are Parkinson’s parting words, leaving him momentarily stunned and watching after her as she disappears between the bookcases.


End file.
